


This Kind of World

by riventhorn



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aesthetic Attraction, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Canon Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, asexual jean, biromantic, internalized shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5163395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean realizes that he wants to matter to Armin. That he wants to care for Armin and have Armin care for him in return. But he can't quite believe that Armin would ever want him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Kind of World

**Author's Note:**

> Goes through chapter 51.

Because Shadis is a sadistic bastard, he makes them go on sentry duty in the winter—at night—even though there’s no point to it. Who the hell would attack their training camp? If Titans breached Wall Rose, there would be no way they could make it this far without someone raising the alarm. 

It’s just another stupid hoop they have to jump through, but Jean will do it, because it will get him into the Military Police. If everything he’s heard is true, the MPs are not out walking sentry beats when it’s scarcely above freezing. 

He clambers to the top of the watch tower, breath clouding the air in front of him, gloved-fingers clumsy on the ladder. Armin is already there, and he has a blanket draped around his shoulders. A thick wool one too, and Jean wonders where he got it. 

“Hey,” he says, and Armin nods, eyes sleepy. 

“Don’t tell me—nothing’s happening,” Jean adds, and Armin huffs a laugh and then yawns. Jean props himself up against a post and looks out into the still, cold darkness, broken only by the glow of a lamp shining from someone’s window. The waxing moon went down many hours before, leaving only the stars. Jean can make out the lumps of the buildings, the deeper darkness of the forest, and that’s about it. 

After fifteen minutes, he’s shivering, feet numb with cold, and trying not to cast envious glances at Armin’s blanket. 

“Here,” Armin says, stepping closer and flinging one end of the blanket around Jean. 

“Thanks.” He bends down a little, as their height difference makes blanket-sharing a little awkward. “Fucking cold.”

“Yeah.” Armin yawns again. 

It makes Jean yawn too. “You’re making me sleepy,” he says. “And I can’t feel my feet.”

“Sorry.” Another yawn, and then Armin edges a little closer and rests his head against Jean’s shoulder, as though he’s too tired to keep it upright any longer. 

Jean goes still, and his heartbeat starts thumping louder in his chest. Armin is a warm, angular weight against him. Their arms and legs align. It’s…comforting.

The realization surprises him because usually he doesn’t like the idea of other people touching him like this. Handshakes, slaps on the back, a friendly punch on the arm—those are all right, unremarkable. But sometimes he’ll watch Franz and Hannah holding hands or Reiner draping his arm around Bertolt’s shoulders or Ymir enfolding Krista in a hug and feel an uncomfortable mix of indifference and distaste at the thought of anyone doing that to _him_.

Even worse are all the explicitly sexual touches. And since everyone has been hitting puberty, the levels of sexual tension and horniness in their training squadron have risen markedly. He’s stumbled across Franz and Hannah kissing twice, Reiner and Bertolt jerking each other off, and Marco pressed against a wall while Geron humped against his ass. 

It isn’t that Jean minds what they’re doing. And he likes having orgasms—he’s spent many nights trying to keep quiet while he jerked off and sometimes even fingered himself a little. But if he ever starts to think about himself with someone he knows—about kissing Marco, for example, or maybe Mikasa stroking him—he just…doesn’t want it. Mikasa is gorgeous, and he’s always wanted to get her to pay attention to him—to have her look at him with the same total focus that she always gives to Eren. Years of failure on this front have made him think it is probably impossible. But in any case, he doesn’t want to kiss her or—or any of the other things Franz, Connie, and many of the others are always going on about. 

It worries Jean that he feels like this. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the others start teasing him about never kissing anyone or still being a virgin or—or whatever. 

But in this moment, he likes having Armin leaning against him. He thinks that maybe he might like it if Armin held his hand. Perhaps even holding Armin in his arms or vice versa. He realizes that he’s never seen Armin kissing anyone either. He can’t even picture Armin making any kind of lewd joke or gesture. Maybe Armin is someone who would understand—who perhaps, might feel the same way as he does.

Jean can entertain thoughts like this in the dark. When the sun rises, forcing the world into wakefulness with its harsh, bright light, he looks at Armin and remembers that he’s going to join the Survey Corps. Armin might not have explicitly said so, but it’s obvious that he’ll go wherever Eren does. He’ll probably be dead within a month after they graduate.

So there’s no point to any of it, really.

*

He still finds most of his attention drawn to Mikasa, but he begins to notice Armin more and more. Armin is so small and well, gentle. He seems completely ill-suited for life as a soldier. 

Often he wants to go up to Eren and shake him. He wants to shout: _Don’t you know that you’re going to get them killed?_

Armin doesn’t treat Jean any differently from Marco or Bertolt or Connie or any of the other recruits. But he starts feeling jealous of all of the laughter and smiles, the close conversations, and the easy companionship that Armin directs towards Eren and Mikasa. 

Which is just great and so fucking typical of Jean’s life. As though he needed any more reasons to be envious of Eren. 

*

Marco’s lips are chapped and thin against his. Marco’s tongue brushes his own. Jean forces himself to try and kiss back, to relax in Marco’s arms because maybe he was wrong and he will want this, will be able to give Marco what he desires. 

Marco draws back after a moment, his hand cupping Jean’s neck. He studies Jean’s face—Jean, who is flushed with embarrassment and shame and discomfort, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. 

“It’s all right, Jean,” Marco tells him, smiling. “If you don’t want this—we can still be friends.”

And Jean doesn’t have the words to explain what he wants, so he just nods, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

The next day, he manages to snag a spot next to Armin at dinner. They exchange a few words, and then Armin goes back to a conversation with Mikasa, and Jean sits there, his chest aching.

*

It’s not until they’re leaving the torch lit courtyard, the few of them who have joined the Survey Corps, that Jean sees Armin ahead of him and realizes that they will still be together now. Well, for a short time. Because now they’re both going to die outside that damn Wall. 

“Armin,” he says, and Armin turns. His eyes are huge and shadowed. 

“You went through with it, then,” Armin says.

Jean nods. He had been sharing a room with Marco here in Trost. He wishes he could ask Armin to come back with him, to help fill the silence that’s waiting for him. How nice it would be to have Armin sitting there reading quietly, his features soft in the lamplight, while Jean drowsed next to him. 

“We have a chance now.” Armin’s voice shakes a moment before he steadies it. “With Eren. We have a chance.” 

“It’s a long way to Shiganshina.”

Armin nods and then shivers. “It’s cold. I’m going to head inside.”

“All right.” Jean stares at him, wishing that he had more to offer.

Armin takes a step forward and then pauses, looking at Jean expectantly. “Are you coming?”

Jean lurches into motion, and they walk back to the barracks together. 

“Good night, Jean,” Armin says when they get there, prepared to go to the room he’s sharing with Connie. Jean responds in kind, but can’t seem to get his feet to move. 

Armin doesn’t move either, and then he says, “We have an empty bunk in our room. If you’d like to stay there tonight.” 

“Yeah.” Jean has to clear his throat. “Okay.”

In the middle of the night, Jean rolls over and peers at the bundle of blankets that is Armin, curled up on the bunk across the room. _I should tell him,_ he thinks. _I should ask him if—if perhaps he might be willing to—to be with me, even though I…even though I can’t even offer him a real kiss._

But even if Armin doesn’t die on Commander Erwin’s proposed mission to retake Wall Maria, Jean thinks that _he_ probably will. And so once again there’s no point. No point at all.

*

His first minutes outside Wall Rose pass in a disoriented blur. His hands grip Buchwald’s reins so hard his fingers start cramping. When they make it through the shattered town and are galloping over open territory, some measure of stability returns to him. He hasn’t died yet. He’s survived for a few minutes outside the Wall. He licks his dry lips, shifting uncomfortably in his sweaty shirt. 

A long time ago—he must have been six or seven years old—his parents took him on a day trip into Wall Maria territory. He remembers being disappointed because he had expected things to be so different, but it was the same trees and grass and people as inside Wall Rose. 

Now it looks wilder, the roads they pass choked with weeds, dangerous from cracked and broken stones. Flocks of birds burst into the air from thickets, and each time, Jean’s heart leaps into his throat. It feels wide and quiet, a heavy stillness that wants to be broken.

Then a red flare billows across the sky. 

At first it seems like the Commander’s scouting formation is working, but then it grows increasingly clear that something is wrong. Jean has seen several Titans in the distance, moving fast. He should also have been able to see other Scouts in the formation, but there’s no one off to the right anymore, and it’s been a while since he saw a red flare. Something is very, very wrong.

At last, he sees two horses in the distance and beyond them a Titan—fourteen meter class probably. The thing is massive and running fast, obviously an abnormal and headed straight for the command group at the center. The right wing appears to have been wiped out, they have an abnormal on their hands—Jean fires a flare. 

One of the Scouts in front turns to look at him, and he recognizes Reiner. And the other—oh, thank fuck, it’s Armin. 

He draws even with them and tells them about the situation on the right. Armin starts thinking aloud, ticking through facts, drawing conclusions. And Jean, even as he’s staring at Armin, feeling an exhilarating mix of pride and admiration, is also coming to his own, inevitable conclusion. They have to fight this Titan. Even if they can’t beat it—even if they don’t have a chance in hell of beating it—they have to keep it away from the command group as long as possible so the rest of the column can be saved.

He knows what happened to Armin in Trost, and part of him wonders if Armin will stick with them on this. He wouldn’t blame Armin if he couldn’t—he’d be relieved, in fact because it hurts something deep inside him to suggest that his friends, that _Armin_ , commit themselves to an almost certain death. 

But Armin’s face hardens in determination, and he pulls up his hood, ordering Reiner and Jean to do the same in hopes of fooling the Titan long enough to give them a chance. 

It’s like something shifts a little, Armin becoming clearer to Jean’s eyes than he had been before. He’s never thought of Armin as strong. But he was wrong about that—so wrong. 

He blurts out what is meant to be a compliment but comes across as weird and awkward instead. Armin gives him a puzzled look, slightly offended, and Jean would explain, but there isn’t time. There’s no time, dammit, and he would only make a mess of it anyway. 

And then the Titan swats Armin into the air, and as Jean watches his slender form tumbling through the air, he can only think, _No. Please, no. I love you._

*

The Female Titan grabs Jean’s line, heedless of the wire cutting into her flesh. Jean feels the tug on his belt, and then he’s being flung forward, the ground rushing towards him. He’s going to smash into it. His bones will shatter. Will he feel any pain or will it be over too fast for that? He’s going to die. He’s going to—

Jean jerks awake, head pounding. It takes him a minute to remember that he’s in the mess hall back in Karanes. He’d eaten dinner with the surviving members of his squad, the atmosphere laden with failure and grief. And then he’d felt so tired, he had just laid his head down for a minute and ended up falling asleep.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he stands, wincing at the pull of sore muscles. The benches are mostly deserted, only a few soldiers still eating over in one corner. Jean stumbles a few feet and then sinks down at an empty table. His hands are shaking—no, his whole body is shaking. It takes him a while and a few deep breaths before he can stand again and slowly make his way outside.

He goes to the stables. It’s warmer in here, filled with the sounds of the horses in their stalls and the sweet smell of hay. He has half an apple in his pocket for Buchwald, who deserves a treat after the day they’ve had. 

Then he sees the light from a lamp and realizes someone else is also here. It’s Armin, standing in front of Charrette’s empty stall. He looks up as Jean enters. 

Jean had heard that Ness had been killed by the Female Titan and Charrette with him. He walks over to stand next to Armin. 

“Mikasa is asleep, finally,” Armin says. “And Eren too. He’s so weak.” He frowns, brows drawn together in thought. 

Jean wants to sink into the soft hay and rest. He wants to hold Armin’s hand in his. He wants Armin’s arms tight around him. “Armin,” he begins, but then Armin starts speaking, and he falls silent.

“I realized something today,” Armin says, voice strung tight with tension. “And I have to tell the Commander. But if I’m wrong…if I’m wrong…” He trails off, hunching his shoulders.

“I trust you,” Jean tells him.

“Even now when you know that I would choose to sacrifice a hundred lives or more in a gamble to save humanity?” Armin asks quietly.

“Yes.” Jean stares into the dark, empty stall. “You’re strong because you could do that. We need—humanity needs—people who can make that choice. I’m…weak compared to you. Marco once told me that made me a good leader, but I can’t believe it.” He turns away and goes to see Buchwald, who accepts the apple and lets Jean stroke his nose. 

Armin follows, stopping just behind him. “You’re not weak. And we need people like you too.” He pauses a moment, and Jean almost lets himself hope that he’s going to add, “I need someone like you.”

But Armin stays silent. When Jean turns around, he’s just standing there, looking small and tired and kind of lost. He’s shivering too with only his thin jacket to protect against the night air.

If he opens his mouth, Jean is afraid he’ll blurt out everything, the entire confused mess that resides in his head and heart. Armin doesn’t need that shit to deal with on top of everything else, so instead he strips off his own jacket and holds it out to Armin.

For a second it looks like Armin will refuse, but then he takes it. “Thanks.” He huddles into it. “You’ll be cold now, though.”

Jean shrugs. “I’m going back to the barracks. Guess I’ll try and sleep for a while. You coming?”

“I might stay here for a bit yet.”

“Don’t stay too long. There’s—there’s nothing we can do for them now except to keep going forward.”

“Yeah.” Armin draws a deep breath, and then he smiles. Not for long, but it’s still beautiful. Jean tries to keep it in his mind as long as he can, walking back under a sky clouded with stars, climbing onto his thin mattress, and ducking his head under the blanket to try and warm his ears and nose. 

Often in the past, he thought about Mikasa as he lay in bed, falling asleep, imagining drowsy fantasies where she told him she loved him and threaded her slender fingers with his. But now it’s Armin who he can’t get out of his head. Armin with his adorable snub nose who sees the harsh truths of a situation just like Jean and who also comes up with brilliant plans to make things better. Jean has never been able to make things better, but he wants very badly to be closer to Armin, to taste and feel that sense of possibility and hope. 

*

Of course, sometimes Armin’s plans suck.

“Absolutely not,” Jean crosses his arms over his chest. “I am not going to pretend to be Eren. Anyway, we look nothing alike!”

“Exactly,” Eren mutters. “I don’t have a horse’s—”

“Would you let it rest with that already?” Jean snaps back. 

Captain Levi’s scowl is just beginning to deepen when Armin says, “Jean. Please.”

He wilts just a little. “You really think it would work?”

Armin nods.

“Ugh.” Jean thumps his head back against the wall. “Fine.”

The next bit of news is even worse. “Annie?” he repeats, staring at them. “But—but she was with us for years How could we have never known?”

“I still say she wouldn’t do it,” Eren says. 

Levi takes a sip of his tea. “We’ll find out soon enough. One way or the other.”

The carriage ride to Stohess is uncomfortable to say the least. Jean sits next to Armin, Mikasa and Eren across from him. They’ll make the switch in a small forest a short distance from the city. Jean eyes the dark wig he’ll have to wear with distaste. Then he kicks Eren’s foot. Eren kicks him back. They keep that up until Mikasa loses patience and gives them both a glare. 

“It’s funny,” Armin says abruptly. “Ever since I joined the Cadets, I thought that I was going to become a better person.” He looks down, his pale hair swinging forward. “I guess I was wrong.”

Eren and Mikasa both have these looks on their faces, like they can’t stand to see Armin upset and in pain. 

“Don’t say stuff like that, Armin.” Eren climbs over and squeezes himself between Jean and Armin, squashing Jean against the side of the carriage. He puts an arm around Armin. “None of this is your fault. If it turns out Annie really is a Titan that’s on _her_. She’s the one who betrayed _us_.”

Mikasa leans forward, her dark eyes softer than usual. “Armin, we do what needs to be done. That’s the only way to live in this world.”

No one pays Jean any attention, and he realizes that Armin has everything he needs right here. What would he have to offer that these two can’t already give? They’ve been friends since childhood, and Jean is just…just another soldier. He wants to say something, to offer what comfort he can, but Eren and Mikasa are already doing that and doing it a lot better than Jean ever could. Armin doesn’t need him—will never need him. No wonder Mikasa never paid him any attention. 

Jean looks away, staring out the window. It makes him think about Marco and how he had failed there too. They had been friends—the first really close friend Jean had ever had—and he could have loved Marco—maybe he had loved him a little. But Marco had wanted more, and Jean hadn’t been able to give it. 

His eyes sting, and he grits his teeth, willing away the tears. 

When they pull to a stop in the forest, Mikasa jumps out, followed by Armin, who says, “Be careful, Jean,” and gives him a smile that somehow hurts more than everything else put together. 

He switches clothes with Eren and puts the wig on his head. But before Eren leaves, Jean grabs his arm.

“Don’t hesitate to turn into a Titan. If it comes down to protecting Mikasa and Armin—you can’t hesitate.”

“I know.” Eren jerks his arm away. “I’ll always protect them.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t care about him too,” he replies, the words out before he can stop them. 

Eren stares at him for a second, expression blank, and then exits the carriage, pulling up his hood. The carriage starts moving again, and Jean sits there, stomach roiling with nerves, thinking bitterly that it must be against some rule somewhere to make a person suffer Titans _and_ having their heart continually trampled upon and abandoned. But no—he found out the reality of the world that day in Trost. There’s no reason to expect anything more than this. 

*

Despite the damage to Stohess, it’s still obvious how wealthy the inhabitants are compared to a place like Trost. Jean, walking around the city in the days following Annie’s capture, studies the elaborate stonework, the fashionable dresses and coats the inhabitants wear, and the abundant displays of meat in butcher shops. 

Armin and Mikasa come upon him one afternoon as he’s frowning at a barge tied up on the docks, its decks stacked high with sacks of grain. 

“You look angry,” Armin says, “I mean, more than usual. Th-that is…what I meant to say…I finally got Mikasa to come outside for a bit! Eren is feeling much better.”

“Great.” Jean does his best to ignore what Armin said at first and points at the barge. “What is this? Have you seen the markets here? They’ve got more than enough to eat. Why aren’t they sending this grain to Trost where people actually need it?” His voice rises in volume, and Armin glances nervously at the passers-by. “All the interior does is live off the sacrifices and deaths of those of us on the frontier.”

“ _Jean_.” Armin tugs at his arm. “I agree, but this isn’t the place to be having this conversation. The Military Police would be happy for any excuse to throw us out of the city—or into jail.”

“Fine.” He whirls around and stalks off down the street, Armin and Mikasa behind him. 

“ _Jean_ ,” Armin says again a quarter mile later, sounding breathless. 

Jean stops. “What?”

Armin points to a stall selling iced sweet teas. “It’s kind of warm today, and we’re not on duty. We could have one. If—if you’d like. Mikasa?”

She nods, although Jean can tell she’s antsy, anxious to get back to Eren. Armin looks at him expectantly.

He _is_ thirsty. “I was just complaining about the fact that people in Stohess can do things like stand around drinking iced teas. You’re making me into a hypocrite.”

“Well…yes,” Armin admits, trying to hide a smile. “But I think we deserve something nice for once. Don’t you?”

Jean can’t argue with that, so he goes with Armin and Mikasa and gets a tall glass of iced tea, watching as the proprietor swirls a big spoonful of honey into it before handing it to him. They take their drinks and go sit down on the rim of a nearby fountain. 

After a few sips of his drink, Armin sets it aside, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his hands. He tilts his head up, basking in the sunlight. 

Jean has rarely seen Armin so relaxed. He looks lovely, and Jean imagines that if he were like the others, this would be the moment when he would want to kiss Armin and tug him closer, sliding his hand under Armin’s shirt to touch bare skin. He doesn’t want to do any of that, though, just wants to be near him and say something that would make Armin smile and laugh. 

He can’t think of anything, so he drinks his tea and stares blankly at the row of shops across the square. 

After a few minutes, Mikasa takes off her boots and swings around to dip her feet in the fountain. Armin makes a delighted noise and does the same. Jean hesitates, but then overcomes his fear of ridicule and sheds his own boots, splashing his feet into the cool water. Armin’s hand is so close to Jean’s, splayed against the sun-warmed stone, their fingers almost touching. 

It’s the nicest afternoon that Jean has had in what seems like forever. Best of all is that when they return to quarters, and Mikasa goes off to see Eren, Armin stays with him. They eat supper together, and Armin asks if Jean has heard from his parents at all and shares a few memories of his own. Armin reveals that his grandfather taught him to play poker, and they rustle up a card deck and play a few hands. 

“Can you imagine playing against Levi?” Jean asks.

Armin laughs. “You’d lose every round. Not like with Eren—he’s so expressive.” Armin raises his bet and then looks at Jean. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier—about you looking angry all the time.”

Jean shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I know I’m not…good-looking or anything.”

“That’s not true! You have beautiful eyes and—” Armin goes red and becomes furiously absorbed in his cards. 

Grinning, Jean kicks Armin’s chair. “Go on.”

“And you might have nice shoulders,” Armin mutters. 

Jean wins the pot, sliding the coins off the table and into his palm. They jingle together when he shakes them. “Another hand?”

Armin’s blush has faded, but he still isn’t looking at Jean. “Okay. But I’m not going to start wagering clothes or stripping or anything like that.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Jean says, shuffling the cards. “I wouldn’t…want that.”

“Oh.” And now Armin sounds humiliated, his shoulders hunching.

“I mean—I don’t—” The cards snap into a pile, and Jean stops, taking a breath. “I’ve never wanted that with anyone. But…but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re lovely,” he finishes quietly. 

Armin looks up, and Jean forces himself to meet Armin’s eyes, to show him that he means it. Armin flushes again, but this time it’s from pleasure.

“It was nice this afternoon,” Armin says, watching as Jean deals the cards. “I wish we could have more days like today.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They play a few more hands, and Armin wins back what he lost plus all the money Jean has on him. Jean knows he has a disgruntled expression on his face and tries to smooth it into something more agreeable. Armin keeps glancing at him, a thoughtful, considering look in his eyes. He should probably try to explain what he said before, but he’s not sure how. He’s never been sure. 

_I want to_ matter _to you. I want you to care for me and let me care for you._

Fuck, but he’d sound silly—silly and too sentimental. 

“Jean,” Armin says, and he jolts, hitting his knee against the table and sending a few cards fluttering to the ground. 

“I think I’ll call it a night,” Armin continues. “I want to…think for a bit, you know?”

Jean doesn’t, but he nods, his throat tight. He doesn’t know if he should feel hopeful or disappointed, so he settles on confused and tired, gathering up the cards and snuffing out the candle on the table.

*

Of course, before he can talk to Armin again, Titans appear behind Wall Rose and all hell breaks loose. He doesn’t even get to see Armin until they’re preparing to ride out on a suicidal mission to rescue Eren from Bertolt and Reiner, at which point he’s too angry to think about anything except how those two traitors spent three years training and eating and sleeping next to them when they’d caused the deaths of thousands of people. They deserve to die for what they’ve done, but at the same time, Jean isn’t sure he could do it, if it came to it. 

Mikasa will, and Armin’s face is set into hard lines. 

Things go as they usually go, which is to say, shitty. And then Reiner starts throwing Titans at them, and Jean hears Armin scream his name, followed by a horribly loud noise and crushing darkness. 

The first thing he becomes aware of is a harsh, terrified panting noise. His fingers twitch, and he registers the feeling of scratchy blades of grass. He’s on the ground, then. But he can’t seem to move his legs or open his eyes. _Fuck_ his head hurts, like someone is crushing it between two stones. 

Something tightens around his chest—no, it’s someone’s arm, the same person who is breathing so loudly. 

He has to move. You can’t survive on the ground. But his body won’t obey his brain’s frantic signals. 

The person holding him sucks in a breath. “Jean.” It’s Armin—Armin sounding like he’s crying. “I’m sorry, Jean.” 

And then there’s an earth-shaking roar, and Armin gasps in surprise. The throbbing in Jean’s head intensifies, and he moans, hands clumsily trying to shield his ears.

“Jean!” Armin starts shaking him. “We have to get on the horse.”

“Stop—hurts,” he groans, opening his eyes only to have his vision tilt dizzily, Armin’s face swimming in front of him. 

“I can’t lift you onto the horse, Jean. Please—please, you have to try.”

Somehow, he does it. He throws up as soon as he stands and staggers drunkenly, clinging to Armin’s shoulders. He almost falls as he’s trying to hoist himself into the saddle, but Armin grips him and helps haul him up, perilously close to overbalancing himself. He buries his face in Armin’s cloak as they start galloping, trying to muffle his pained moans and make the world stop spinning. 

It’s later that night, once they’re back at the Wall and Eren has had his latest crisis of confidence and Jean has talked him out of it—and he isn’t preachy, dammit, but he’ll be damned if all of this turns out to have been for nothing. He won’t let that happen and Eren better not either. Anyway, it’s later, and he’s finally located a bowl of warm water and a cloth so he can wash the blood off his face. That’s when Armin finds him.

“You saved my life,” Jean says. “I’d have been dead, if—if you hadn’t.” He realizes that sounds stupid and blinks. “I—I mean—”

Armin comes over and sits next to Jean. “You threw up on my boots.”

“Oh.” Jean stares at him. “Sorry.”

Armin smiles and reaches out very slowly to curl his fingers around Jean’s hand which has frozen in midair, the cloth dripping water on his leg. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, his voice hoarse. 

Armin tugs the cloth away and then begins to clean Jean’s face, his touch gentle. His other hand rests lightly on Jean’s cheek, holding him steady. 

“You’re all right,” Armin says softly, almost to himself. “You’re all right.”

Jean squeezes his eyes shut, but two tears still escape. 

“What do you need?” Armin asks. “Tell me what to do, Jean.”

“Would you…hold me?” he asks, and Armin scoots closer, and there’s a moment’s awkwardness, but then he has his face resting on Armin’s shoulder, and Armin’s arms are around him, hands rubbing soothing, half-circles on his back. 

He starts mumbling into Armin’s jacket, everything that he’s always been too afraid to ask. “If—if this was it—if I never kissed you or—or did, well, you know—would it—would you still want me? I—I’d still love you, Armin. I _do_. I do.”

“Of course I’d— _of course_.” Armin tilts his head so it rests against Jean’s. “You care so much, even if you’re embarrassed to show it. And despite—despite everything, you’ve never reconciled yourself to all the death and suffering. You would never throw anyone’s life away. And that’s just a few of the things that—that—” His voice trembles, and he finally whispers, “How could that ever not be enough?” 

They end up lying in their blankets, facing each other, Jean holding one of Armin’s smaller hands in his own. Armin’s eyes keep slipping shut and then fluttering open again, focusing on Jean. 

“Go to sleep,” Jean tells him. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

A little smile curls Armin’s mouth. “Promise?”

“I promise.” 

Armin falls asleep almost immediately. Jean watches him a moment longer and then lets his own eyes close. Armin is here with him, and they have both lived another day. To be given this moment—perhaps he was wrong about this world after all.


End file.
